


What Was I Arrested for This Time? Graffiti or Murder?

by DragonAngelFunandFire



Series: Sanders Sides Punk AU [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood, Bullying, Gen, Graffiti, Jail, Panic Attacks, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 05:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonAngelFunandFire/pseuds/DragonAngelFunandFire
Summary: Punk AU short story.For the prompt in my creative writing class: your character wakes up in jail with no memory of how they got there. They find 5 objects in their pockets that slowly trigger memories of the night before.





	What Was I Arrested for This Time? Graffiti or Murder?

Virgil Moreno woke up, with no idea where he was. Immediately after he realized this, he tensed, shoulders going up to his ears, but with his eyes still closed, feigning sleep. 

When nothing happened, he opened his eyes and sat up to find himself alone in a dull grey jail cell. Now, this wasn’t his first night in a jail cell; as a graffiti artist, it probably wouldn’t be his last. However, thinking back, Virgil could not remember how he got into the cell. The last thing he remembered was finishing up his masterpiece and taking a picture of it to send to his friend, Logan, later. After that, he was drawing a blank.

Drawing his knees up to his chest in an attempt to stem the rising panic, Virgil began to hyperventilate. He could feel a panic attack coming on, and couldn’t head it off on his own. Usually, his friends or thoughts of them helped him, but this was one triggered by gaps in his memory, not social anxiety. His heart began to race and his hands began to shake as his mind began to spiral in its attempt to recover the memories from the blank spot in his mind. 

Suddenly, there was a bang on the cell door, shocking Virgil halfway out of his panic attack, letting him look up at the cell. There was an officer there staring at his with a strange look on his face, mostly pity, but with a bit of disgust mixed in. Virgil couldn’t figure out what he had done to earn that kind of look. The officer looked away and walked off, footsteps echoing in the concrete hallway, leaving Virgil to wonder what that was about and who that guard was. Virgil had gotten picked up for graffiti enough times that he was on first-name basis with most of the usual officers. 

Reluctantly unfolding, Virgil stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, and was surprised to feel some things in there. Usually, the police collected all the evidence they could get, not leave it on him. Grabbing one carefully, he brought it out of his pocket, and barely had time to note that these must be the most incompetent police ever to have left evidence in his pocket, before he was swept up in a memory brought on by the can of spray paint in his hand.

_It was a normal night, with a new moon, so it would be harder to see him, and harder to see his work. Virgil had had a bad day, and the usual bullying about his clothing choices and general demeanor only added to his turmoil. Virgil decided to go find a nice blank wall and throw up some of his art, get his thoughts out of his head._ _  
__It was a perfect night for graffiti, and Virgil got lost in his head as he planned out his next masterpiece._

_ He found a nice alleyway between a restaurant and a corporate building, one that opened to the street on two sides, important for an escape route, and began to paint on the wall of the dull, boring, beige corporate building. He snorted beneath the bandana on his face. Honestly, they should be thanking him, he was doing them a favor. _

Well, he must have been picked up for graffiti again, he supposed, but that didn’t match the look on the guard’s face. Something else must have happened. Continuing to dig through his pockets, he found a knitting needle, and another memory.

_ Taking a break from the graffiti for a bit, Virgil pulled his bandana down and sat on the wall across from his half-finished piece. Still feeling restless, he pulled his knitting needles and yarn out of his oversized hoodie pocket, and continued the scarf he was making for his friend, Patton, who loved bright pastel colors, and was a pansexual who was out and proud. Thus, the scarf was going to be a baby blue that transitioned to a soft yellow and then to a pastel pink. Virgil loved having big pockets and cargo pants, as it meant that he didn’t have to bring a bag to carry everything he brings on these outings. He did anyway, but he liked having the choice.  _

_ After tying off the yellow section, Virgil put the half-finished scarf into his backpack instead of his pocket, and continued his work.  _

With that memory returned, Virgil wondered what happened to the scarf and the other needle. He thought the police probably confiscated it, if they found his backpack, but not the other needle, which had slipped from his hand, apparently, and whatever else was in his pocket. 

Getting up, Virgil fiddled with the needle as he paced around the small jail cell. Thus far, he could remember the beginning of the night, but not how he got to jail. He could feel more objects in his pocket, and he did want to know, but, at the same time, he was afraid of the memories he might find. 

Making a decision, he reached in again and pulled out something small and metal. It was a thimble that pulled him into his memory. 

_ It was time for another break, and this time, Virgil took out his sewing needle and thimble, and got to work. It was almost Halloween, and he was making a costume for his other friend, Roman, who wanted to go as a prince this year, same as every year, but he had asked Virgil to make his costume this year if Virgil had time, which, right now, he did.  _

_ He made some good progress on it before it was time to continue, finishing the scarlet cloak and a sleeve of the white shirt. When it was time, he put the costume into his backpack, and thimble and sewing kit into his pockets, stood up, and got back to work.  _

The memory ended there, for now, though Virgil could feel a couple more items in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he jumped down the rabbit hole and pulled out something with a smooth plastic handle. Looking at the taser in his hand, Virgil shook his head at the absolute idiocy of the police department to leave this in his possession. It still had some charge left on it!

_ Before leaving, Virgil had grabbed his taser, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it, but graffiti was a dangerous game, what with other criminals not using it for the artistic outlet that he did.  _

_ As he was just finishing up his art piece, which was a beautiful picture of him and his friends, Logan, Roman, and Patton, together, someone came running into the alley he where he was painting. Spinning to face the intruder, Virgil pulled the taser out of the depths of his pants pocket and aimed it.  _

_ “Wait!” the other man yelled desperately, “Please. Don’t shoot! I just need a place to hide.” _

_ “What? Why?” Virgil asked, confused.  _

_ “He’s after me, he’s coming!” _

_ “Who?” _

_ “Julian Hewitt!” _

_ Virgil felt his body go cold. Julian Hewitt was serial killer and mass murderer, a feared one, who picked targets at random and struck at any time of day. He enjoyed playing with his victims, or so the reports said. If he was here, they both had to run. Just because Virgil was not the intended target didn’t mean he would be ignored.  _

_ Thankfully, this alley was not a dead end, and the two men ran out the other end of the alley and across the street. Fumbling, Virgil pulled out his phone and shakingly dialed 911.  _

_ “911, what’s your emergency?” _

_ “Julian Hewitt,” Virgil forced out, barely able to speak from terror at this point.  _

_ “Yes?” replied a British voice from behind Virgil. _

_ Virgil spun around and shot the taser blindly. _

The memory ended there, and Virgil was left shaking in remembered terror. Carefully, with shaking hands, he pulled the last item out of his pocket: a razor sharp shard of broken, bloody glass. 

_ The taser missed.  _

_ Backing up quickly, Virgil tripped over the curb and fell with a clatter, all of the spray paint falling out of his various pants pockets, and his hand fell on a broken glass bottle. Picking it up, he held it in front of him as he looked at the leering murderer in front of him.  _

_ Wasting no words, Hewitt lunged at Virgil, a large knife in his hand coming down at Virgil’s stomach. Quickly, Virgil rolled out of the way and brought the bottle down on Hewitt’s head, shattering the bottle, but not doing much. Virgil scooped up the largest shard and began to ran, but Hewitt caught up and grabbed him from behind. Stabbing down, Virgil stabbed Hewitt with the glass in the kidney.  _

_ With a strangled yell, Hewitt dropped, and began to bleed out. Virgil tried to run, but everything was too much, his legs were shaking, and he could barely stand. Taking a step, Virgil fell, hitting his head on the curb, and blacking out. _

Coming out of the memory with a gasp, Virgil tried to contain his panic at the thought that he had killed someone. Thankfully, he didn’t get much time to panic as he was brought into an interrogation room, and, haltingly, slowly, with several panic attacks, he recounted what happened. The police ruled it self-defense, and allowed him to leave with yet another reminder about the illegality of graffiti. Overall, it had been a stressful night, and Virgil could only thankful that it was a Saturday as he called Logan to come pick him up, with a promise of an explanation for everyone. 


End file.
